Not The Way She Tells It
by Mistress Mills
Summary: Their meeting at the tree was not the last Cora and Rumple saw of each other. Her wedding night was something he intended to rob her of; he might not be able to have her for himself, but he would make sure that she was never the same after all she did to him. No one harmed the Dark One and got away with it, especially not some worthless miller's daughter. But what if he was wrong?
1. Chapter 1

_I don't own OUAT_

* * *

There was a stack of wedding presents almost as high as the grand ballroom's towering ceiling. They were all decorated elegantly, some almost dripping with gold and jewels. The people would do anything to get in good favour with the royal family, most especially those families with young boys. Henry's younger sister was the only member of the family still unmarried besides the King, who had vowed not to marry again after the death of his second wife. She was now the most desired woman in this or any kingdom, and not even 7 years old.

The music was lovely and nonstop, the musicians forbidden from stopping until the night's festivities were over. The dancers were perfectly in sync, each step perfectly in tune with both the music and their partners. Cora, unaccustomed to this perfect symphony of movement, stood to the side, sipping a glass of wine by her husband's weight resting on her finger was unfamiliar, though not at all unwelcome.

"Darling, the people will expect us to dance soon enough. It is our duty to provide entertainment for them." She smiled sweetly, looking at him with a candy-coated malice than could be seen if one were to look directly into her eyes, an act that most people, most especially her new husband, were terrified to do. Her hand slipped down into his, fingers curling themselves around his tightly.

"It is _my_ wedding. We will do as we please, not as the peasants do." It was at that time that the song ended in a great clash of cymbals. The dangers once more returned to the edges the room. As required, as a sign of respect and honour, no one was allowed to dance until the bride had been offered. If she accepted, they were to wait a few minutes to allow the bride her moment to shine. The sounding of a drum signified when it was appropriate for others to join them on the dance floor. The silence was thorough, all waiting for their Prince to request a dance from his new wife. Truly, any man could ask, but none were courageous, or perhaps simply foolish, enough to ask Cora before Henry did. He got down on one knee, taking Cora's hand in his. He lowered his head, bowing to her before kissing her delicate hand.

"Cora. May I have this dance?" She smiled, finally allowing him what he wanted. The sigh of relief was painfully obvious as he released it.

"Why of course, your highness." He rose from his knees, hand in hers, leading her onto the floor. The music began with a low wail from the viol, slow and sweet. The began to dance, a harp joining in its delicate tremours to the heartbreaking sounds formed by the viol. A flute added its serene cries to the clamour, the varying sounds somehow coming together to form a beautiful sound as they gracefully spun around the room. She forgot herself for a moment, the music so mystifying she felt a thrill rush through her. It was something she had never expected from such a foolish action, but it felt powerful, flying across the room in such a manner. Distantly, a muffled drum beat reached her ears, only half the volume as it should have been, as though she had cotton in her ears. Soon they were surrounded by couples spinning and stepping and twirling in unison. The synchronicity was perfect, not a single toe out of place. What felt like mere seconds later, the music trailed off, and she was led to her small crystalline throne. The time for dancing was now down.

Henry sat beside her in his own simpler, yet more elegant, throne. Their hands clasped, and they stared straight forward, emotionless, as the servants moved the mountains of wedding presents closer. One offered her and her husband drinks; she accepted a flute of champagne, taking delicate sips of it as she waited for them to finish their task. Once the piles had finally been brought to them, the front-most servant offered Henry a gift wrapped in golden foil, draped in a delicate silk bow. Cora took it from the man instead, deftly collapsing the bow into a pile of fine ribbon and opening the lid. The silence in the room was thick as they awaited her reaction. She reached inside, plucking out a pair of diamond cuff links. Passing them gingerly to Henry, she nodded resolutely; they had her approval. A new present was given to her, decked in a simplistic purple foil that gave an aura of elegance and grace. She was, of course, suspicious of it immediately; its simplicity that somehow made her long to open it. That couldn't be right. Gazing down at it for a moment more, she shook her head, banishing the intense longing she felt for the gift.

"Let's save this one for last, shall we? I have a feeling it's going to be quite a gift."The servants nodded, adding it to the bottom of the stack. She hated herself for allowing her eyes to linger for a moment more in the spellbinding present. The weight of s new gift in her lap allowed her to tear her eye off of it at last. The new present was blissfully over-decorated. Clearly a present from the nobility. Inside lay a string of pearls and diamonds so cover in jewels that it would be difficult to keep her head up. Perfect. Hundreds of gifts went by in the same manner: Overly expensive items intended to gain the favour of the Prince and his new bride. It was a blissful monotony, because with endless riches and power, she had no need for complications. Only one present now remained of what began as towering multitudes. The servants put away all of the new gifts before they could be damaged, running to put them away the instant she reached for another. She was saved the hassle of the final present y the arrival of the King. Every guest and servant dropped to their knees at his arrival, heads low. Henry and Cora stood from their thrones, Henry bowing to his father and Cora curtsying briefly.

"Father. I am glad you could make it." His father nodded.

"Well, it is your wedding. And I am required for the next part." He called for a servant who brought forth a fluffy purple pillow made of velvet. Placed atop the pillow was a very fragile-looking tiara made up almost entirely of tiny diamonds. There was a brief flutter in her chest where her heart should have been. It was hers. They had been hiding something for weeks, and this was it. Her wedding day was also to be her coronation day. What a wonderful gift.

The coronation went by in a blur, full of vows to protect the kingdom and perform her duties as nodded and murmured 'I do's and 'I will's when appropriate. , though not fully paying attention; she was too absorbed in her own thoughts to think properly. All the thoughts vanished, however, when she felt a surprisingly large weight land on her head. A beaming grin covered her face as she looked down at all the people who knelt before her. To her delighted surprise, Henry and Xavier both knelt before her as well.

"May I present Princess Cora. My newest daughter." Xavier had stood just before he spoke, taking her hand to help her rise, presenting her to her public. He had been kinder to her since she had taken her own heart. Though he, of course, did not know that that was what she had done, he had certainly seen a transformation in her; he seemed to prefer it. Henry rose now, taking her other hand and leaning in to whisper in her ear.

"You seem tired, darling. Shall we end the festivities for the night? The guests may stay whilst we take our leave. They won't expect us to stay all night." She contemplated the idea briefly, quite ready to go to bed, though not extremely eager for the end of the festivities or what she would be expected to do when they reached their new, shared suite. Nonetheless, it was the time that the guests would be expecting them to leave.

"I have another present I never unwrapped." That was not what she had intended on saying. Those words had not even crossed her mind by that time. He nodded, taking her back to rest on her throne. Picking up the small parcel, he handed it to her. Clearly he _was_ eager to go back to their chambers. She pinched at the small ribbon, unraveling the careful wrapping that had crossed the small box. Lifting the lid with a combination of apprehension and anger at the lack of control she had in the situation, she stared down at what was in the box.

It was a rose, clearly of supernatural origins. She had seen it before- in the garden of Rumplestiltskin's castle. Long ago, she had pointed it out as her favourite of his grand collection of exotic flowers. He had taught her how to create her own flowers, knowing it to be something she was interested in. She had a strong passion for gardening ever since her mother had died and their family's garden had been taken over by weeds. He had shown her the most beautiful things, flowers of fire and ice that would burn forever yet never melt, but he had never allowed her to learn how to create this kind. _So that I know you'll never leave me_. It had seemed such a foreign thought to her then, that she would ever give him up. But she had. She had know that this gift would have been from him, but she didn't expect it to hurt this much.

She picked up the delicate rosebud, examining it closely. Each petal as white as snow, the edges sparkling in a flowing shimmer of pastel colors. Magic, in its purest form. It had the smallest bit of stem still attached, a single thorn exposed. She remembered the results of pricking yourself on the sharp tip. A sort of magical high, allowing for a burst of power that lasted a few days before leaving the person tired yet completely unharmed. This power burst was something she desired. Carefully, she pressed the pad of her thumb against the thorn, purposefully pressing the needle-like tip into her flesh. As it broke skin, the world turned dark, and she heard an echoing voice that she had hoped to never hear again.

"Thought you'd never arrive, dearie."


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own OUAT**

* * *

_"Thought you'd never arrive."_

Her eyes were heavy as though she had slept for days at a time, her vision blurred for several minutes. When it cleared at last, she was faced with a sight that made her turn away.

"I had hoped I never would." Even as she turned, the man was in front of her again, closer this time. Her eyes snapped shut, but he thwarted her there too, slipping inside of her eyelids with a snicker.

"You'll not get rid of me that easily, dearie. We are inside your mind; there is no escape." Frustrated, she opened her eyes once again with a huff. They were in his garden, the aisles lined with flowers. In the black, there was a collection of flowers comprised of dark amethyst- her first. Surrounding these were her other creations, clearly still being taken care of. To her left were large bushes of roses- those she had pricked herself on. To her right stood a nearly identical cluster, different only in that their stems were a faint pink colour, rather than the rich burgundy of those on her left. She had been tricked.

"What do you want?" In place of an answer, he waved his hand absent-mindedly, her crystalline throne appearing. Of course he had seen it, watching her every move from inside her head. She stepped toward it, but he sent her a mocking look as he took it for himself.

"You got this because of me; it's only fair that I get a taste of your royal life." He pointed to her, the weight on her head disappearing, only to reappear in his hands. "It is luxurious, of course, _your __highness_. But was it really worth defying me?" She smirked. He planned on her remorse and love, perhaps even her fear. He did not know what it was like to be missing your heart. Though he had given her his completely, he was not careless enough to allow it to leave his body. Nonetheless, if his hope was for her emotions to betray her, he would be disappointed.

"You may take my tiara and my throne, but you may not take my crown. I won." He stiffened for a moment before appearing before her, drawing his hand back before striking her. The force through her to the ground, her hand flying to her red cheek. Her lip trickled a slow stream of blood.

"I think you'll find I can take whatever I like." She tried to stand up, not allowing the dizziness or pain she felt show on her face. It became too much, and she sat down, trying to make it look like she was in control, even as she saw the world spin around her. Her eyes had lost some of their defiance, but at least it had been replaced with anger and not fear. Anger was productive. Wiping a little of the blood of with her thumb, she thought back to a day he had told her of his life- his late mother and father, his lost son and murdered wife...

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to hit a woman?" Her voice was low and cold, the same tone that would grow to strike fear into the hearts of even the most brave warriors. "I suppose it's lucky little Baelfire didn't learn his manners from you." Rumple snarled, his hand rushing towards her again. She flinched slightly, instinctively, but the blow never came. Instead, her tiara had been replaced.

"Perhaps you're right." She stood again, ignoring the hand he offered her. There was a certain grace in that, and it was maintained by the soft smile she let spread across her face. He was at the disadvantage. He could still love, and perhaps most vitally, he did still love her. She did not carry the same burden. She walked down the aisle of flowers, running her fingertips across the petals as she went. Rumple walked behind her like a loyal pet. Perfect.

"My dear, you've mistaken me for a fool. You see, we are inside of my head. I control my mind, not you. You are my guest; I am not your prisoner." His hand on her shoulder stopped her, turning her to face him. A single taloned finger trailed down her cheek. This time, at least, she did not flinch.

"I never intended on keeping you prisoner. You will return to your husband soon enough. But there is something I require of you first. You see, though a deal apparently means very little to you, it is my entire job. I intend to see it done." She backed away, fear starting to bleed through her mask. As much as she was in control of this situation, so too was he. But he had done this before, and his power far surpassed her own.

The setting changed, and he disappeared. The fresh air and warm nature had been replaced by cold stone walls and a single furnishing. A bed. It was one that she recognized; firm padding, oak backboard, red silken sheets hidden by a thick burgundy comforter. She had been in this room, and if his intentions were in any way vague, his next words confirmed them.

"You see, dearie, you promised me a child. My child. There was no stipulation requiring the child to be made while you had a heart." The disembodied voice became a man who was more of a beast than a man, standing only a few feet from her. "Or while you were unmarried." One step closer. "Or while we were in love." One final step. "Or while you were willing." With this, he took her face in his hands, drawing her into a kiss. She wanted to fight him, but her body disobeyed. Part of her mind rebelled as well, ready to beg him for forgiveness. The very thing she had taken her heart to be rid of was still there, admittedly lessened, but the nagging voice in the back of her mind still assaulted her with demands to give in. And while she could not fight it, could not fight _him_, she allowed herself to revel in it. Another chance such as this would never occur again, nor did she want it to. But for this one moment, it was alright. She allowed herself to feel the things she never expected to feel again. She broke off the kiss.

"Rumple, let me have some control. I need to respond." Her voice had lost all its malice, turning instead into a lustful plead. It was undignified, but she did not care. This was her Master, and he had always owned her. Her body was her own again, but she had let that little piece take complete control, just for this one moment. Fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, pulling his chest to hers. Her other hand found its way into her hair, her fingers tangling themselves in the strands. She gave a tug, just harshly enough to bring his lips to hers. The next thing he knew, she was pulling at his shirt, clawing at it until the delicate silk tore. She slid the torn shirt off of his shoulders, running her fingers down his surprisingly muscled chest. It had shocked her the first time she had felt it, but now it was a nice comfort, a bit of familiarity in this strange reality. She did not love him; she could not. But she wanted him. That little voice inside of her that had grown so influential recently was begging her to replace her heart. Begging her to beg him for a second chance. But she knew this would be their last encounter of the sort. She would choose power over him every time.

"If this was your plan all along, why bother clothing me?" He let a small smile show as he slipped the sleeve off of her left shoulder, his lips touching her feverish skin. A small shudder tore through her.

"We both know that removing them is half the fun. I had so hoped you would cooperate." He kissed her lightly. "You did not disappoint."

"I never do." She stepped back, careful to keep the dress from slipping further. "Well then, Rumple. Let's have some fun." He was beside her in an instant, tugging at the dress she wore. It held firm until he put a sharp claw to the neckline, tearing the gown down her chest. She let the tattered dress fall off of her body, stepping out of it only to be caught in his arms. He looked over her body, not satisfied yet. Women, particularly nobility, wear too many layers. A corset and two more layers of skirts barred him from viewing any more than the peaks of her breasts and the delicious pale skin of her arms and neck. Taking one hand, he kissed up her arms, chastely at first but then biting as often as kissing. She would not have his marks on her true form, but marking her soul was more than satisfying. It may not have been visable, but he was claiming her. A soft moan slipped out of her as he kissed along the edge of the corset. His hands began to untie the harsh constraint as his mouth continued to pillage her skin. Not a single spot had been neglected, her pale skin either red from his heated kisses or darkening from his bites. Her corset fell off, and her full breasts were displayed before him for his use. One he tended to with his mouth, teasing and biting softly; the other received gentle caresses. His efforts were awarded with her frequent moans.

"Shall I go lower still, Cora?" He dropped to his knees, kissing along the edge of her skirts. A nod was all she could manage, paralysed again- not by the man's powers, but by his passion. He began sliding the layers down her hips slowly enough to torture her. Once it was all removed, he simply stared at her, worshipping her body.

"Stand." Her voice had dropped an octave, husky with desire. The moment he was at full height, her lips claimed his. Her fingers desperately tugged at his pants, the only thing that kept them from joining together as she wished to. She pulled them off, and it hit her what she was about to do. She shouldn't do it, but she could not stop now. He lifted her up, and her legs automatically wrapped themselves around his hips. He layed her down on the bed, and she knew it was far too late to stop.

As her body was lowered onto the bed, his attentions were once again brought to her neck. Starting just under her chin, he kissed across her skin, crawling on top of her. She took his chin in her hand, lifting him from his spot just above her breasts. The curiosity in his eyes begged for her reasoning, granted to him when she pulled him into a kiss. She started to move under him, her legs on his behind urging him to go further. He consented, entering her slowly before quickening his pace as they adjusted to each other. His satisfaction was hers as they moved as one, created for one another. Though he was on top, she was firmly in control. Her movements and cries guided him, leading him to find just the right spot. Once found, her release was not far off- neither was his. They laid together, panting heavily. All too soon, he stood.

"Where are you going?" Her hand had grabbed his tightly, but he shook it off, beginning to redress.

"You have a wedding to return to." Nodding, she too began to dress. Once she had replaced her corset and skirts, she realised they had a problem.

"My dress..." A snap of his fingers cloaked her body in her wedding dress again. Her hair was carefully replaced in its elegant updo. Rumple took her hand in his, touching his lips to it for a single moment.

"Your majesty." Her hand was released, and he walked to the door. "You will be released when I am gone."

"Our daughter... when will you collect her?" He looked at her one last time, knowing he would not see her again anytime soon. When they did meet again, it would not be under such pleasant terms.

"Eighteen years. I will give you eighteen years." And then he was gone.


End file.
